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MEMORIES 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 


by 

J. M. MEADOR 



1923 

THE STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
Boston, Massachusetts 


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Copyright, 1923 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
Boston, Mass. 



The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 


©CI.A69858 3C 

MAR -S 1923 y 0 








TO HER WHO WEEPS WITH ME IN MY SORROWS 
AND REJOICES IN MY TRIUMPHS, MY BE¬ 
LOVED WIFE, THESE HUMBLE LINES 
ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 















FOREWORD 


If our Lines supplant a frown with a smile; 
give courage to a faltering youth; bear comfort 
to a distressed heart; lighten the burdens of 
age, or afford even meagre food for thought, 
then our aim will have been accomplished and 
our effort amply rewarded. 


Hinton, W. Va., 
Nov. 20th, 1922. 


— J. M. MEADOR. 








I 






























Contents 


Page 

Memories.1 

Did You?.5 

Indiscretion.7 

Turned Loose on the Street ... 9 

October.10 

Don’t Fret and Stew.12 

A Review.13 

I Question Not.14 

On Dissipation.17 

A Dear Old Priest.18 

A Sunday Stroll.19 

Woman.20 

To a Political Adversary Writing Under 

the Assumed Name of “Cit” . . 21 

Just So.-22 

Alone With My Thoughts . . . .23 

Reflections on the Death of a Friend . . 24 

A Song of the Hills.25 







CONTENTS 


Page 


Ole Brer Groun’ Hog.27 

A Thought.29 

Combined.31 

From a Conversation with an Aged Visitor 32 

The Dying Year.34 

Political.35 

Whoop!.37 

Christmas in Florida . . . . .38 

But This to Ask.40 

Entertaining a New-Comer on the Coast of 

Florida.41 

Lines Written in a Local Option Campaign 43 
But Turning Find It Not . . .45 

Lines on the Death of a Friend . . .47 

Vanity.49 

Admonitory.51 

An Appeal..52 

A Fragment.53 

Oit Hearing a New Tune to an Old 

Familiar Song.54 

We’re Children All.56 

To the Poet Scout.57 



CONTENTS 


Page 

Then Give Me Faith.59 

In the Presence of Death . . . .61 

But So It Is.62 

Still Trudging On.63 

To My Soul.64 

Trite Truisms.66 

Satisfied.67 

Life and Death.,69 

A Florida Sunset.71 

Fishing.72 

By Sniffing the Air.74 

To John Slick..76 

Advertising.79 

To a Pansy ....... 80 

So May It Be.82 

Covered With Snow ..... 84 

Little Things.86 

A New-Year Thought.88 

Yet a Man.89 

We May Not Understand . . . .90 

Build Ye Upon the Book of Books . . 91 






CONTENTS 


Age. 



Page 

. 94 

A Grouch .... 



. 95 

But This I’ve Learned 



. 96 

A Thought at Dawn . 



. 98 

And So It Is 



. 99 

Let Me Learn 



. 100 

There’s a Little Face . 



. 102 

Lines on the Fiftieth Anniversary of My 

Birth .... 



, 104 

A Song of Thanksgiving 



. 105 

Mondongachate . 



. 108 

Tolerance .... 



. 114 

My Love is Wayward Love 



. 116 





Memories 


T HE DAY grown old, 

As deep ’ning shadows steal across the hills 
I sit and woo the Past. 

’Tis childhood’s voice, — memory fond! — 

That bids me come 

And walk awhile in quiet glens 

Where bloom the flowers; 

The fragrant wildrose pluck, 

And honeysuckle, daisy fair, — 

Snow-clad and gold-crowned nymph ! — 

See the brown rabbit from its cover start; 

Hear anthems of the birds in templed wood, 
And watch the droning bee 
Dip from the clover nectar sweet, 

And honey-laden hasten to its hive. 

’Tis youth, — adventurous youth! — 

Invites to shim’ring pool 
Where lurk the trout; 

To cast the fly-snared hook, 

Withdraw and cast again, 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Till bountiful reward, 

Sun-browned, 

Barefoot and light of heart, 

With boyish glee, 

I bear me home 

From treasures of the stream. 

I sight paternal cot, 

And upward-curling smoke 

From chimney-top announces noonday meal 

Aromas hunger-breeding 

From the kitchen hearth ascend; 

In hot and sput’ring grease 
Are dropped the trophies from the brook, 
And on my plate there soon is laid 
A gray-brown morsel fit for king! 

And ended noon’s repast, 

I’m bidden to the sterner field 
Where swaying corn 
Stands sentinel in green array; 

And with the wieldy hoe 
Give battle to besieging weeds. 

The sun seems burdened with his heat, 
And hours to linger in their sultry flight. 
Perspiring and fatigued, 

I seek inviting shade; 

And rimming western horizon 

[ 2 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


See peaks of cloud, that soon, 

Like snow-capped mountains, lift 
On high their hoary locks; 

Hear vibrant voice of thunder break 
Beneath their crests, 

And roll, like muffled drumbeats, 
Through the hills; 

See bowing to the rushing winds 
Some mighty oak 
Whose silv’ry upturned boughs 
Lend hissings to the storm; 

Seek shelter under friendly ledge, 
And watch the sodden clouds 
Pour wealth of rain 
On thirsty earth. 

The storm abates. 

And in the busy forge of Time, 
With unrelenting strokes 
The days are welded into years, 

Till, love — impetuous love! — 
Invites to shady lane, 

To quiet nook, 

And cottage nestled in the hills, — 
Dear vine-clad ruins of the past! — 
In accents soft and low 


[ 3 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Like cooing of the woodland dove 
Its message comes to me,— 

Too sacred for another’s ears,— 

And treasured as a message from the gods 
In reverence is held! 

Nor words shall paint it for another’s gaze 


[ 4 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Did You? 

D ID YOU ever start some race to run 

And find, perchance, ’twas a losing one ? 
Did you do your best without complaint, 
Though the way were rough and your heart 
were faint? 

If you did, my lad, count your loss a gain. 

It’s a worthy ship that ploughs the main, — 
Though battered and torn, — when seas are 
rough. 

If you do your best, you’ve done enough. 

Did you ever let some habit take 
A strangle-hold you fain would break ? 

Did you count the gain and count the loss 
Of allowing self-desire to boss ? 

Did you dare the spirit that makes men brave, 
Or wear the manacles of a slave ? — 

Not till you’ve done the best you can 
Will you have proved yourself a man. 

[ 5 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


You’ll find when you have fathomed out 
The depth of Folly’s last redoubt, 

It’s like the rainbow’s pot of gold, — 

An empty thing, — a tale twice told. 

To think on that which might have been 
Will cleanse you not from stain of sin; 
Nor sunshine of departed years 
Will dry Regret’s remorseful tears. 

Be thou a man four-square to God; 

Pass thou beneath His chast’ning rod 
If needs must be. Blest is his lot 
Who bears his stripes and murmurs not. 




MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Indiscretion 


T HE DOOR was standing half ajar, 

A cat came slyly creeping in 
To see if there was anything amiss; 

But it hastened quickly back 
0 ’er its lately trodden track, 

For the only thing it saw was merely this: 
One soft kiss. 


A whippoorwill came eavesdropping 
And perched upon the window-sill 
To hear the courting couple’s roundelay: 

If the truth I here must tell, 

Out it whistled , 1 ‘ Court-her-well! ’ ’ 

Then it raised its speckled wings and flew 
away — 

’Twas in May. — 

His chair had turned a space around; 

Her head lay pillowed on his breast, 

And silence brought its messenger of sleep. 
So they dreamed of love and fame, — 

Nor was either one to blame 
For the silliness that in their minds did creep 
While asleep. 


[ 7 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


The morning broke across the hills; 

Her father went out through the room 
To light a fire ready for the cook; 

But no fire did he light 

Till said he, “You snoring wight! 

Never here again upon you let me look! — 
You’re a crook!” 

Young people, hear this good advice: 

Don’t do as this fond couple did, 

By heeding flatteries of time and place; 

For if there is naught to blame, 

Indiscretion leads to shame; — 

And a something that we never care to face 
Is disgrace. 


[ 8 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Turned Loose on the Street 

ITTLE boys and girls turned loose on the 



street 


Are apt, very apt, some others to meet 
Just a little bit wiser, a little bit older — 
Versed in town ways — and a little bit bolder. 

Pretty soon friends drop in to tell mama and 


dad 


That their children are rude, very rude — 
almost bad. — 

Then the time-honored truth looms up in their 
face 

That children should always be kept in their 
place. 

Conclusion:—Better an iron bit than iron bars. 


[ 9 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


October 


HE BRIGHT October days have come 



I In fullness of the waning year; 

We mark the forest’s many hues, 

And note that winter days are near. 

How cool, how pleasant and how fair! 

How broad and round the moon’s pale face 
That smiles above the wastes of night, 

In splendors of her autumn grace! 

The stars beam forth with brighter rays; 

And meteors flaming through the air 
Seem messengers from world to world; 

Nor know we whence, nor know we where! 

The harvest of the squir 1 is now; 

Through branches of the chestnut, down 
We see him chase with nimble feet 
The dropping nut that’s ripe and brown. 

Or turning to the garnered shock, 

We see a little woodland wight, 


[10] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


The chat’ring chipmunk, striped and neat, 
Stuff full his jaws and take to flight. 

How grand to scale to mountain top 
And hear Old Autumn clear his throat, 

And watch his merry children dance 
When he has set the tune afloat. 

The birds mount higher in their flight, 

But carol not the same sweet lay 
That gladdened in the month of June 
And hallows memories of May. 

’Tis season of the harvests grown, 

And points us to that autumn hour 
When we shall reap as we have sown — 

Of tare or grain, of thorn or flower! 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Don’t Fret and Stew 

I F YOU find sometimes that the sky’s not 
bine 

As it’s been before, don’t fret and stew 
And stamp like a goat; but clamp the bit 
Like a fonr-year-old that’s full of grit, 

And leap right over the bars of fate 
And canter away at a lively gait. 

If yon growl and fret and taint your mind 
With trouble, my lad, you’ll trouble find; 

And a vinegar-look on a twelve-inch face 
Is not worth much in making a race; 

But a sunny smile and four sides square 
Will help quite much to get you there. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Review 


GOOD sister rose from her place in the 



pew, 


With tremulous voice, her life to review. 

“My oft imperfections have grieved me quite 
sore, 

My place is,” said she, “behind the church 
door.” 

Said good Deacon Jones, with tears on his 
cheek, 

“Like dear Sister Smith, I feel very meek; 

Like her, I have failed, hut more, much more! 

My place is with her, behind the church door.” 

Conclusion:—It is not so much what we say as 
the manner in which we say it, that plants 
the smile or moulds the tear. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 

I Question Not 

HAT boots it if, 



Within the pulsing womb of Time, 


A thousand thousand years 
Man passed from stage to stage; 

Or if, 

At God’s command, 

With single bound, 

He leaped from Mother Earth 
A Man? 

With Him who gave us life 
A thousand years is as a single day. 

His handiwork shows purpose and design. 
I question not His wisdom, mode nor plan; 
Nor hath the Record said 
He breathed in him the Breath of Life 
And Man became a Living Soul 
Before he was a Man! 

Science hath not shown the Sun 
To change his course in all the years; 


[14] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Nor whence Orion’s bands. 

Polaris guided mariners of old, 

And points the north today. 

The Pleiades we view with raptured gaze 
The Shepherds saw and Poets sang 
On Old Judea’s hills. 

The fragrance of the Rose, 

The Violet’s tint, 

I may not understand; 

Nor whence the Fountains of the Deep; 
The Lightning’s flash, 

Nor tread of Storm. 

But this I know: 

There is beyond it all 
A Moving Cause, superior to Chance, 
Whose ways are not our ways, 

And are past finding out; 

Who walks with mighty tread 
The vast Unknown; 

With music fills the spheres; 

Attends all Nature wide; 

Yet lays the simple hand of Faith 
Upon our hearts, that bids us wait. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Philosophy may trace the Planet’s course 
Unbosom secrets of the Plain and Hill, 
And mark Old Ocean’s tidal flow; 

But Faith, and Faith alone, 

Can light the Shad’wy Yale 
And teach the Mystery Profound! 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


On Dissipation 

S HOULD you know a man with decent wife, 
And children — two or three — 

Who forsakes them for some flippant wench, 
Or a common “hoot-leg’’ spree; 

Don’t you think that in the years to come 
He will reap as he has sown; 

That his empty life and burdened soul 

Will echo still the groan 

Of those distressed by his wilful acts, 

When the harp of life was strung 
For the songs that make a happy home 
And he left them all unsung? 


[i7] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Dear Old Priest 

HERE’S a dear old Priest, only human, yet 



1 He was never known to a friend forget. 
He will share his meal with his neighbor; and 
To scatter cheer on ev’ry hand 
Seems part of his life. Go where he may 
His chief delight’s to gladden the way. 

Conclusion:—Acts often impress us more than 
sermons. 


[18] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Sunday Stroll 

A FRIEND and I took a Sunday stroll 
To the Double Goose-Neck Turn,* 

And looked away to the azure hills. 

’Twas easy to discern 

That the smile of God was on the land 

That reared before our gaze; 

And the clouds that floated across the sun 
In their mystic, checkered ways, 

Like the heavens, declared the glory of Him. 
Our hearts were lighted with fire, 

Kindled by beauties there beheld; 

And we felt that upward, and higher, 

Is found that key that unlocks the soul 
To the better things that be, 

If we steal away from self awhile, 

Where the spirit may be free. 


* The Double Goose-Neck Turn is two rather short curves 
in the public highway immediately east of Hill Top 
Cemetery, near the city of Hinton, W. Va., so named in 
derision by a gentleman who opposed the construction 
of the highway. 

A beautiful view of the New river, the mountains and 
surrounding country may be had from this point. 


[19] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Woman 

S IREN of sweet lullabies; 

Of the home the crowning sheaf; 
Very soul of man’s ambition; — 
Moulder of his joy or grief! 


[20] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


To a Political Adversary Writing Under 
the Assumed Name of “Cit.” 

LLUSTRIOUS “Cit,” in you I think I’ve 



I found 

A noble plot of earth ; a piece of ground 
Where angels walk sedately! — Devils smile 
To make believe they’re saints, and without 
guile. — 

Illustrious “Cit,” like Adam did of old, 

Some of us fall; and some are in the fold 
Who Satan-like would war raise in heaven; 

Or Judas-like, deserting, leave eleven. 

Illustrious “Cit,” art thou a saint? No doubt 
That if thy garments were turned inside out 
The stench would bid the very vultures in 
Of Hades, but to feast upon thy sin. 


Illustrious “Cit,” perhaps I’ve said enough 
To call, if you ’re a gentleman, your bluff ; 
Besides, there’s little fear of him 
Who hides away behind a pseudonym. 


[21] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Just So 

J ONES married a Miss Spendthrift; 

But Smith had better sense, 

And married Miss Economy 
To keep down his expense. 

Conclusion:—A woman that is in love with 
your pocket-book only, is likely to be in love 
with some other man’s cravat. 


[ 22 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Alone With My Thoughts 

A LONE with my thoughts. What a vision 
of years 

Advances, recedes! Gilded hopes, somber fears, 
From the realms of the Past, in checkered 
array, 

Stalk forth arm in arm, as we see them today. 

Reflection hangs gently in Memory’s hall 
The pictures of loved ones around on the wall. 
And footsteps of those who in youth were most 
dear, 

And voices that cheered me, again do I hear. 

And methinks that out yonder somewhere, at 
some time, 

I shall meet them again, where blossoms a clime 
Whose valleys are virtue; whose mountains are 
truth, 

And the round of whose years is perpetual 
youth. 


[ 23 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Reflections on the Death of a Friend 

R ELEASED from Ms shackles and gone; 

But whither I know not. Yet dawn 
Must follow the gloom of the night. 

By faith there breaketh a light 
From the dark of the voiceless tomb; 

And Hope rears his castle where Doom 
Has scattered the ashes of Death. 

Again will the fragrance of breath 
Come out of limitless space; 

Again will a smile light the face; 

And, out on Time’s far leeward shore, 

Again we shall meet as of yore. 




MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Song of the Hills 

Y E WEST VIRGINIA HILLS! Structure 
of Him 

Who builds not by the plumbline nor the square! 
In rugged note I lift my feeble song to thee, 
Whose purple tops rise in the vaulted blue. 

You heave with energy that moves the loom; 
Unfurls the flag of commerce to the world, 

And cleaves with wooden wing the storm and 
cloud. 

Your forests hold the keel of ships; 

The ties to bind the locomotive’s way, 

And girders of the home. 

I love you not for these; 

But for your heights that bid me climb 
If I would see the beauties out beyond; 

And quiet dells inviting rest. 

The sparkling brooks leap from your rifted 
sides; 

The Storm King drives his chariot o’er your 
peaks, 


[ 2 5] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And bends his lighting bow from hill to hill. 
’Tis at yonr foot the peaceful valleys lie; 

And ’twixt your slopes the laughing streams 
Go romping to the sea. 

Here sunset tints the west with red and gold; 
The whippoorwill bids welcome to the night, 
And gentle breezes lull to restful sleep. 

The robin’s song and whistle of the quail 
Announce the new-born day, and bid us forth 
To mount again accustomed rungs of life. 

And I have dwelt with you 
Till Time has touched my brow, 

As sun and storm have touched your crests, 
And left his mark. 

But when the weight of days can not be borne, 
And I have laid me down to dreamless sleep, 
May I awake to find again, as now, 

A home among the Hills! 


[26] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Ole Brer Groun’ Hog 

(There seems to be a belief prevalent among many 
of the people of my native State that the marmot, 
or ground-hog, comes from its hibernation on the 
2nd day of February, and that if it sees its 
shadow it immediately returns to its place of 
hibernation and remains there for a further 
period of six weeks; but if the sky is overcast 
and it does not see its shadow, then the indication 
is that the cold weather has passed, and it does 
not return to its hibernation). 

Y OU MAY talk about Brer ’Possum, Brer 
Tarrypin, Brer Fox; 

About the Tu’key Buzzard, how Brer Rabbit 
smote the rock; 

How Sis Cow shook down the ’simmons, how 
Brer B’ar the honey got; 

But I ’low Ole Brer Groun’ Hog has beat ’em 
all a lot. 

For when he sets back on his peg and casts his 
weather eye 

About, as if he’s lookin’ for symptoms in the 
sky, 


[ 27 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


You’d better take your b’arm’s, and hold the 
rudder tight 

When Brer Groun’ Hog sees his shadder, if you 
want to head in right. 

I thought about a month ago I’d watch it; and, 
by jings, 

We’ve had four weeks of cold and snow, along 
with other things; 

We’ll have some more of it yit — about two 
weeks — and then 

You’ll see Brer Jay a-sportin’ with Sis Robin 
in the glen. 

Ole Brer B’ar and Brer Fox were all right in 
their day — 

A pity ’tis them good ole times has long since 
passed away — 

But Brer Groun’ Hog still holds trumps, and 
beats the Weather Man 

A-playin’ of prognostics, — by peekin’ in his 
han’. 


[*] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Thought 

(To our modem evangelists) 

Y E Counsellors of Hope, 

What seek ye in the harvest of the Lord ? 
To hear my soul to God on wings of love, 

Or scourge me with the lash of fear 
To kneel and worship at a tyrant’s feet 
A cow’ring wretch? 

Shall I be drawn by cords of fear, 

Or bands of love? 

Is it not written: God is love ? 

Why point me to the deathbed of a friend 
Whose anguish gave me pain, 

Yet could not blot away a single sin? 

Were it not better that I walk with Christ 
Beside the Galilean sea, 

Or listen to His words upon the mount; 

Kneel with Him in Gethsemane, 

Or cast my eyes to Golgotha ? 

[ 29 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Hath He not said: 

The truth shall make you free? 

Then tell us simple gospel truths, — 

The story of the Savior and the cross! — 
Preach but the Word; 

The Word that in beginning was with God; 
Was very God made flesh, and dwelt with men. 


And tell us not of Self; 

What Self hath done; 

Of sorrow, nor the sinful acts of men; 

But tell us of His love ; 

The love that hath not bounds, 

And even loved while yet we were in sin;— 
That Love that reared the cross 
And bade the sinner Look and Live! 


[ 30 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Combined 


O NCE fervid A, and faithful B, and pious 
C, combined 

To save from Satan’s slimy grasp; and set about 
to find 

The most effective manner. The first to speak 
was A; 

And to put them under water is, to him, the 
only way; 

But faithful B thought sprinkling is much the 
better plan 

For buckling on the armor; so trouble soon be¬ 
gan. 

They argued from all angles, with little of suc¬ 
cess, 

The while it seemed some devil was stirring up 
the mess. 

Good pious C, disliking their too aquatic bout, 
Cried, “Hold! — If he should get them well 
pray the rascals out! ’’ 

Conclusion:—Better a strict adherence to 
Faith, Hope and Charity than to lend our¬ 
selves to any Ism; and if learned divines 
differ, how can we expect common mortals to 
be of one mind? 


[3i] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


From a Conversation with an Aged Visitor 

W HEN first I was here, a single house 
And a native forest broke to view; 
The winding river was bright and clear, 

And we crossed it in an old canoe. 

Beside this craft did our noble horse 
Swim safe along. Not a boatman’s oar 
As then had dipped the crystal stream 
Where now your city marks the shore. 

But that was three score years ago, 

When adventure urged us, — in our prime; — 
And then, as now, what the future held 
Was hid away in the chest of time. 

We were hunting a home, my husband and I, 
Where budding hopes would open to bloom ; 
But the woof we weave in the warp of life 
Is never woven in fancy’s loom. 

We judge of the future, ’tis said, by the past; 
What wonderful things are then in store 
For those who will seek them, remembering 
this: 


[32] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


That brightest pearls are not found ashore. 

And what of the three score years to come? 
With the marks of a century creasing your 
brow, 

Perhaps you will tell of the strange, strange 
past 

As I’m telling you of the strange past now. 


Yes, what of the three score years to come? — 
Your city’s a struggling infant still, 

But her pulse is strong and her courage good, 
And ere then she may reach from hill to hill; 
For they tell me now, soon an arch of steel 
Will span the river — a bridge in lieu 
Of the mode of crossing long, long ago 
When we swam the horse by the old canoe. 


[ 33 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


The Dying Year 

H ARK! ’Tis the moan of the dying Year, 
And it dies as the Years we’ve known 
before; 

For each some tinge of its sadness left 
As it joined the throng in the Nevermore. 

There is much undone we had thought to do 
When the Year was young and our hearts were 
glad; 

There are words unsaid we had thought to say 
To comfort others whose hearts were sad. — 

But bury them gently, the Years, as they die, 
And let not their shadows the future o ’ercast; 
If the wind we have sown, we the whirlwind 
shall reap, 

And ’tis useless to grieve over seed-time that’s 
passed. 

Our life is a field where we reap as we sow; 
And that figs are not of the thistles grown, 

Is as true as it was when taught on the mount 
By the Nazarene in the days long flown. 

[ 34 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Political 

W HEN hope is budded only on despair, 

And yawnings of destruction round 
them glare, 

’Tis then that error marks the tortuous way 
That leads to ruin those who follow may; 

’Tis then ambition, wounded, seeks to rise 
And triumph even by the force of lies. 

And such as these unto our city came, 

Filled with the lust of office. Tame 
Were their arguments as house-fly’s buzz; 

And from the wings of oratory fuzz 
Alone did fall. ‘ ‘ Free Silver! ’ ’—Mighty theme— 
“Lost cause,” they said, “and passing of a 
dream.” 

If such be true, why resurrect the dead 
To fright the people with its ghostly tread? 


Yet further back in ghoulish glee they go 
To steal from Hamilton his theory; woe 
To Lincoln and the freedman’s cause 
When such as these would by tyrannic laws 
Make millions slaves, and trample in the dust 
That grand old sheet that says the always just 

[ 35 ] 




MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 

Powers of government from the governed arise 
By their consent! This crossed the skies 
Of revolution; is a light kindled by love; 

A searcher of the despot’s throne; a carrier 
dove 

To those who dwell in darkness, and a Right 
That never will submit to Might ! 

They told us then of kindly trusts, so good 
They no one harm; and that we should 
Obedience pay to them. In fact, they had 
A kind word for them all, ’sif none were bad. 
They told us of prosperity; how grand 
It blesses all the country; how the land 
Has yielded noble harvests; nor did fail 
To freely speak about the “dinner pail,”— 

As if a birthright were with pottage bought, 
And belly were superior to thought. 

But did they tell us how the trusts have shared 
Their profits with the laborer? How fared 
He when he asks for more of what his toil has 
earned ? 

Nay, verily! Momentous though it be, ’twas 
spurned 

As ’neath the dignity of such as they. Indeed, 
There’s lack of logic in their windy creed. 

[ 36 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Whoop! 

H IRAM drank some “boot-leg” booze 
And pretty soon he swore 
He’d lick the town policeman; 

But—it’s Hiram’s head that’s sore! 

Conclusion:—If you go in search of trouble, 
you are apt to find it. 


[ 37 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Christmas in Florida 

HAT! Christmas-tide and no snow and 



ice 


For Santa Claus and his reindeer nice 
Over which to haul our girls and boys 
Their dolls and carts, their candies and toys? 

Then, what shall we do? — Oh, maybe he’s 
bought 

An automobile. — If he hasn’t he ought; 

Then sand would do as well as the snow; 

For he ’ll want some fruits for others, you know, 
And could fill his car as he’s passing through 
With as fine a lot as ever grew: — 

Oranges, guavas, bananas and pines; 

Grapes from bushes instead of vines; — 

May be some sunshine, a rose or two 
He’ll want for some one that’s feeling blue, 
Shut in by a climate less friendly than ours 
Where smiles not the sunshine and blossom not 
flowers. 


[38] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Oh, I’m sure he’ll come; for we’ve many good 
things 

We’ll give in return for any he brings! — 

Then here is to you, gay girl and glad boy: 

A bountiful Christmas, with stockings of joy! 


[ 39 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


But This to Ask 

M Y SON, I have but this to ask: 

No matter what may be thy task 
Stand thou four-square to self and God, 
Though unapproved by public nod. 

Apologize for naught that’s right, 

But gird thyself to ever fight 
That foe whose mercenary thong 
Would bind these to an action wrong. 

To err, if honest, is not crime; 

But neither now nor future time 
Will justify convictions sold 
For policy or tempting gold. 


[ 40 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Entertaining a New-Comer on the Coast 
of Florida 

HE AIR is delightful, the sunshine is 



I bright, 

And fish in the bay are wanting to bite. 

Then let us be off so we may begin 
To cast our hooks as the tide comes in. 

Now here is a can for the fiddlers; and, say, 

A mullet, you’ll find, is excellent prey 

For red-fish and trout; but, bless you, my boy, 

If mack’rel you’d catch, then a minnow employ. 

The yellow-tails, shiners, black-fish and crab, 
My experience is, will just anything grab. 

And oysters — oysters — yes, by jove, 

Are best on the half-shell,—I don’t like cove. 

Well, here is the dock; we’ll find us a seat 
And see if the fish are wanting to eat. — 

A bite, did you say, or just nibbling some? 
Perhaps it’s a sheep’s-head, or’t may be a drum; 


[4i] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


If so, a quick jerk, then a firm, steady hand 
Will nine times in ten bring it safely to land.— 
Did it fin you ?—Why, yes!—Be careful, I pray; 
You’ll find that a sheep’s-head is handy that 
way. — 


And my!—what is thatf Ah, only a flounder! 
I thought ’twas a red-fish. — perhaps a ten 
pounder. — 

And what have you now?—a crab, I declare! 
(After ten minutes’ wait) — There’s another — 
a pair. 

(Still later)—I’m tired and the tide’s running 
out, ^ 

And hungry enough to eat bacon and kraut — 
I’m sorry our catch isn’t better;— but say,— 
We can’t always have things exactly our way. 


[ 42 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Lines Written in a Local Option Campaign 

mo THE fray, men! Onward! Press on! 

I Take courage and hasten away; 

For there’s heed for the strong in this fight 
against wrong 

That good people are waging today. 

I hear from the hovel the wail 

Of a mother oppressed and heart sore, 

Who longs for relief from the burden of grief 
That the drink curse has placed at her door. 

Be up and about! They’re alert, 

Who heed not the child’s plaintive cries; 
Who note not the tears that have welled up 
for years 

From the depths of a loving wife’s eyes. 

Press on! To the front! We need men! 

Strong men, bold hearted and true, 

With a sense of the right, to join in the fight, 
For there’s fighting, hard fighting to do! 

[ 43 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


In each age has some one been found 
Who his Savior would sell for a price, 

And, perhaps, in the fray there is some one 
today 

Who will yield to the shekels of vice. 

But courage! Onward! Press on! 

“Ill forsake not, nor leave thee alone,” 

Is the message we hear, with the listening ear, 
From the lips of the Infinite One. 


[ 44 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


But Turning Find It Not 

B ELOVED hills! In vernal grandeur clad, 
With here and there a fallowed field 
And humble cot in which some yeoman dwells, 
How dear to memory! 

And how a part of life are ye! 

’Twas here my eyes beheld the dawn of youth, 
And here the cup of joy has touched my lips; 
The tread of care has lingered in the way, 
And sorrow cast its mantle over hopes. 

But this the season is 

That takes me back to you and youth again. 
In memory I scale your slopes, 

With eager eyes look to some distant hill 
And long to pluck the downy service bloom, 
The redbud’s flaming boughs 
And dogwood’s treasured snows. 

I hear the call of birds in leafy glen, 

And see the nimble squirrel dart away 
To safe retreat; 


[45] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Hear drumming pheasant calling to his mate; 
The tinkle of the hell on sunny slope, 

And whispers of the spring time ev’rywhere. 

I hear a kindly voice that once I knew, 

But turning find it not! 

The day slips by, and ev’ning steals apace; 
Youth’s dream departs; again I am a man! 

But let my trust in manhood, as in youth, 

Be not in self. 

Be it in Him who reared the hills; 

Who dips His brush, with unseen hand, 

Into the pigments of ethereal space, 

And paints upon the canvas of the west, 

Beyond the hills, a glimpse of heaven 
In pageantry of light and shade 
The hand of man hath not attained; 

Who gems the upper deep with isles of light; 
Enwraps me in the drapery of sleep; 

With loving care protects me through the night, 
And marshals on the eastern slopes 
The heraldry of morn that bids me forth 
To bear again the burdens of the day. 


[ 46 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Lines on the Death of a Friend 


H IS was a life for each one to admire 

Who hails simplicity and fellow-love; 
One onr young manhood to inspire 

To shun the beaten paths, and look above. 

His was a life whose kindly bark, 

Though tossed by bitter winds at sea, 

Bore comfort to the shipwrecked mate, 

And pointed to a friendly lee. 


I knew him in our early days 

When folly beckoned, and the call 
He yielded only to repent — 

Hardly a yielding after all. — 


He never stained the swordman’s blade 
With gore of a trusting friend; 

He knew not where dislike begins, 

Nor friendship has its end. 

[47] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


I knew him when ambition spread 
Allurements before his gaze; 

He forward moved with steady tread, 
Nor spurned the harder, sterner ways. 

I saw him mingle with the crowd 

And make their joy, their sorrow, his; 

He lived not in the mold’ring Was, 

But in the throbbing Is. 

I saw him with uplifted hands 

To God, when life was ebbing low; 

With resignation born of faith, 

I watched his spirit thither go. 


[ 4 «] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Vanity 

W HEN Morning comes in all her panoply 
of youth, 

We’re glad to see her come; 

But when the fulsome Day has robbed her of 
her hues 

And trembling dews are falling from the leaf 
and blade, 

We’re sorry she must go, and wish she’d 
linger on; 

For what the older Day may bring we do not 
know; 

Nor is it meet that we should know, 

Since Time to Time unfolds sufficient for the 
Hour. 

And so with Beauty. 

Though she be a queen enrobed in subtlest garb 
And jeweled as the Morn, 

She claims attention only for the Hour ; 

For when the hand of Care 

Has traced its markings through her cheeks, 

[ 49 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And Sorrow dims the sparkle of her eye, 

Onr admiration wanes; and we are forced to 
say, 

As it was said of old, Vanity of vanities; 

All is vanity! 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Admonitory 

M Y SON, if in thy song is sadness, sing 
it not; 

Each mountain hath its echo, and each grot 
Some slumbering sadness of its own doth keep; 
Let not thy words arouse it from its sleep. 

Turn not thy key unto the crypt of years, 
Nor tell us of the rankling of thy fears; 

Enough to know the past its sorrow holds, 
Enough to know what time to time unfolds. 

But if thy song he gladness, let it fill 
The valley with its music; let the hill 
Echo and re-echo back its joyous notes 
Until responsive wells from other throats 
Gladness alike to thine. As leafy trees 
Nod to the summer’s gently rustling breeze, 
So do our hearts respond to joy’s strain, 
E’en though they bear some blighting sorrow’s 
stain. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


An Appeal 

O H TIME, bring back my youthful joys, 
And wrap me in their charms once more 
And flow thee back, oh Stream of Life, 

To Childhood’s far receding shore! 

Place me again where Fancy fair 
May press me to her heaving breast, 

And lull me with her mystic charms 
And crooning voice to peaceful rest! 

Place me, forgetful of my cares, 

Upon the pedestal of Youth, 

Where Life is stripped of all disguise 
And anchors at the Port of Truth! 

Place me again where mother’s songs 
May steal upon my list’ning ears, 

And mother’s hands with mother-love 
May wipe away the blinding tears! 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Fragment 

T HE bravest captain of life’s clan 
Is but a feeble, cow’ring man! 
Upheld by God and not by chance 
We breast the waves of circumstance; 
Nor need we fear if His but be 
The hand that guides our bark at sea. 


[ 53 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


On Hearing a New Tune To An Old 
Familiar Song 

W E ARE peculiar people, 

All of us; 

We are sometimes fond of music, 
Sometimes fuss; 

And a frown seems sometimes better 
Than a smile; 

And we’d rather walk than ride — for 
Half a mile! 

And our heads feel sometimes bigger 
Than a barn, 

And we spurn the very thoughts of 
Funny yarn; 

While at other times we laugh with 
Merry zest, 

And think whatever is, is 
For the best. 

And again, what once we loved seems 
Out of date, 

And we feel that we’re among the 
Quite sedate 


[ 54 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


That should make some wondrous changes 
In the plan 

That has heretofore pleased ’most 
Ev’ry man. 

Why, we’ve changed the dear old songs, 
Don’t you see? 

Soon we’ll sing the song “My Country, 
’Tis of Thee” 

To the tune of “Yankee Doodle,” — 

And I fear 

That we’ll change the date of Christmas 
Half a year! 


[55] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


We’re Children All 

HAT, frowning? Now bring me a smile 



vv instead, 

While I tell you a story about little Ned 
And his wonderful cart. If he pushed it slow 
You could scarcely hear it; but off ’twould go 
If he pushed it hard; and, my, the fuss 
Would make you think ’twas an omnibus! — 
But wait; there’s a smile a-dimpling your chin, 
And I haven’t told half—Ah, here comes a grin 
That will soon be a laugh as big as my boy! — 
Thus a story half told changed a frown into joy. 

And as kindness dispels the frown of a child, 

By kindness so are we, too, beguiled; 

For we’re children all, and like to hear 
From kindly lips the words of cheer; 

And half of our burdens seem borne away 
By the sunshine in others.—The flowers of May 
Bloom not in December, and hearts weighted 
down 

Are never made light by harsh words and a 
frown. 


m 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


To the Poet Scout 

D EAR Captain Jack, with sunny heart 

And thoughts above earth’s sordid gain 
How few the hands that here we clasp 
And wish that we might clasp again, 

And watch once more the gentle glow 
That marks the tranquil under-flow 
Where sweeps a mighty stream of life 
Embittered by no rankling strife. 

We find in you a treasure land 
Whose castles are of purest gold, 

With spires pointing heavenward 
That bid the timid to be bold. 

We look across the gulf of years 

And mark your longings, hopes and fears; 

And hear you with a spirit true 

Sing praises of the “Gray” and “Blue.” 

You, like the mountains you portray, 

Or like the canyon deep and wide, 

Mark “Where the Hand of God is Seen,” 

And where His greatness doth abide. 


[ 57 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


You show that Honor, Truth and Right 
Combine to make Resistless Might;— 
That sorrows, oft, and bitter tears 
Make halos for the after years. 


[ 58 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Then Give Me Faith 

S INCE faith begetteth hope, 

Be mine the faith to stand 
Amid the flying shafts of doubt, 

And unafraid accept the grace of Him 
Whose Son was lifted up 
That all who look may live. 

Be mine the steadfast hope 
That anchors in the vale 
Where shadows do not creep. 

Who sails on speculative seas 

Without the chart of faith 

Will shipwreck on the reefs of doubt; 

But faith the tempest stills, 

And hope a light-house stands 
Where billows break. 

As morning sun dispels the gathered mist, 
Let hope dispel my fears; 

As-mounts the joyous lark in winged song, 
On wings of faith let me mount unto God 
In joyful praise. 


[ 59 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Faith knows no bounds. 

By faith we walk with God amid the gloom; 
Behold His face in ev’ry passing cloud, 

Each mountain peak, and canyon’s depth; 

His voice hear in murmuring brook, 

The song of bird, and thunder’s crash; 

Press the cold forms we loved unto our hearts, 
And live with them again beyond the grave. 

Then give me faith, and take your theories 
hence; 

The simple faith our fathers knew of old; 
Supernal faith; 

Faith that has stood the wrecks of time, 

And shall sustain amid the crash of worlds. 


[ 60 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


In the Presence of Death 

I was asked by a dying sister, “Does every one 
when dying suffer as I am suffering V’ 

The following lines contain my answer: 

I ’VE WATCHED the fading spark of life go 
out 

Of those who fanned my life into a flame; 

Of those who in my childhood played with me; 
Of those my very own I dandled on my knee, 
And Death in all his blighting aspects is the 
same. 

The aged cower ’neath his heavy yoke; 

Young manhood writhes beneath his stinging 
stroke, 

And infancy recoils with agony no tongue has 
ever spoke. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


But So It Is 

H OW OFT we hear with heavy heart 

The dip of that silent boatman’s oar 
Who rows onr friends across the stream, — 

The mystical stream of mystical shore, — 

And wonder, ah, why should the boatman come 
And beckon the young and strong away 
While the old and weak stand on the brink 
And seem to long for the close of day 
When their weary forms may sing to rest 
And they shall cross to the other side. 

But so it is; the strong must go 
While yet the weary here abide. 

But God knows best. His purpose runs 
Through all the mysteries unscanned. 

’Tis He who lights the torch of life, 

And sets the boundaries of man. 


[62] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Still Trudging On 

\ 

A FELLOW walked into my office one day 
And said in a kind of satanical way: 
“Folks do not believe, but yet it is true, 

That poverty makes me most damnably blue! 
And since first I beheld life’s bickering screen 
Not a moment of pleasure or peace have I 
seen!” 


Perhaps what I said wouldn’t look well in print, 
But just to enlighten I’ll drop you a hint: — 
Instead of investing a dime in some rope 
He’s still trudging on over life’s sunny slope. 


Conclusion: Better a merited rebuke than unde 
served sympathy. 


[63] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


To My Soul 

B E PATIENT, Soul! Spurn not this house of 
clay 

That seeming hides thee from the light of day, 
But temper it unto thy Master’s will, 

And let thy warmth its ev’ry chamber fill, 

Of this, thy dark abode; and let thy care 
Attend it in the silent hour of prayer. 

Know thou, this earthly mold is legal heir 
To vales of hope with castles of despair, 

Where Sorrow in his might grim war doth wage 
Alike upon the peasant and the sage. 
Forsaking not, attend it in the strife, 

Thou better being of its inner life. 

And when my hands would pluck some sin- 
bought prize 

Be thou a veil to hide it from mine eyes; 

Kindle upon the altar of my heart 
A flame of love that may become a part 
Of ev’ry act of mine, to make life’s whole 
A dwelling place more meet for thee, my Soul. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


So, when the shadows from the twilight hill 
Fall o’er life’s vale, and ev’nings gathering 
chill 

Bespeaks the gloom of the approaching night, 
That thon mayst know within the morning 
bright 

Thine eyes, my Soul, shall look on fairer day 
Than ever kissed the dews from flower of May. 


[65] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Trite Truisms 

I F OTHERS fancy troubles, they’re theirs, so 
let them be; 

You can not keep a secret by telling two or 
three; 

You can not climb a mountain by looking up 
the slope; 

Nor can you feed one’s hunger by giving, “Oh, 
I hope.” 

You can not conquer truth by calling it a lie; 
You can not comfort sorrow by helping others 
cry; 

You can not read your Bible when it is on the 
shelf, 

Nor have respect of others without respect for 
self. 

You can not weigh another by making self the 
weight, 

Nor hope for love of others if you have learned 
to hate. 

But meet your ev’ry duty the very best you can, 
If pleasant or unpleasant. And then you are a 
Man! 


[66] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Satisfied 

S OME wish for wings to mount away 
Beyond the ken of mortal day, 
But when my Poll is by my side 
I cheerful am, and satisfied 
With life ,• though hopes of bygone years 
Have flown and left some bitter tears. 


Yes, hopes will fade; hut others rise 
That beckon onward to life’s prize. 
They, too, may fade, and life grow chill, 
But I will hope, and, smiling still, 

Will say, My Poll is by my side; 
Though trials come, I’m satisfied. 

We’ve jogged along for many years 
Life’s rugged paths, and many fears 
Have risen in our minds, but they 
Passed out with dawn of hopeful day. 
With Poll, to comfort, by my side, 

And Hope to lead, I’m satisfied. 

[67] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Ofttimes when I’ve been sad and weak 
Of heart, upon my furrowed cheek 
A kiss of love she would bestow, 

And say, “Why, Ben, what hurts you so? 
Discard your fears; in God confide, 

And then you will be satisfied.’’ 

Our failures oft successes prove, 

And, borne with patience, oft they move 
Our souls to nobler work, afar 
Hope ling’ring as a guiding star. 

With peace of mind, Poll by my side, 

I hopeful am and satisfied. 

Pray, what is fame of man ? And why 
Seek it in ocean, land and sky? 

Proud, kingly heads must bow to fate, 
And brightest homes grow desolate 
With coming years. Faith be our guide, 
And Poll and I are satisfied. 

And when it pleases God that we 
Shall put on immortality 
And leave this sin-cursed vale of tears, 
My Poll and I will say to fears: 

Farewell! Fond Hope doth yet abide. 
God’s will be done. We’re satisfied. 


[68] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Life and Death 

(Being reflections on a funeral) 

W HEN tressel-board no longer holds 
designs, 

The gavel calls me not again to work, 

And, like some worthless garment worn and old, 
You pause awhile to lay this mortal by, 

Let not the lordly boast, nor haughty try 
To blaze another path whereby you may 
Evade the common destiny of man. 

For each of us has, like a reptile, crawled 
Through grimy ways; has scaled ambition’s 
jutted walls, 

And fancy’s most illusive steps pursued, alike, 
In search of that which ever lies beyond — 

A flower here, a bramble there — 

A hope attained, a disappointment felt — 

And this is life. 

Waste not your means in putting me away — 
Will not the living need your substance 
more ? — 


[69] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


But let the rites be simple and composed. 

And when the bell my last departure tolls, 

And friendly clods have hidden me from sight, 

Turn not away with dripping eyes and heavy 
heart; 

For ’tis the locust’s rifted shell you’ve hid 
away — 

An empty thing wherein dwells neither life nor 
thought — 

But lift your eyes unto the trembling boughs of 
faith, 

Attune your ears unto the whispering voice of 
hope, 

And they shall bear to you the winged locust’s 
song. — 

Mysterious change — enigma yet unguessed — 

A migratory step from stage to stage — 

And this is death. 


[70] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Florida Sunset 

I STOOD where the ocean meets the land 
And looked away to the gilded west; 

The Ocean murmured, ‘ ‘ On, press on! ’ ’ 

But the Sunset whispered, “Rest.” 

What beauty over the ocean spread! 

The sea-fowls winged their weary flight 
Away from the busy fields of day 
To the peaceful haunts of night. 

My mind, reflecting on the past, 

Oft wanders back to that setting sun 

And the bars of crimson and gold that spread, 

Like a couch, when the day was done. 

And on my heart has this truth been wrought 
If along life’s way we do our best, 

Our sunset will be tinged with gold, 

And a Voice will whisper, “Rest.” 


[7i] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Fishing 

I WENT out fishing t ’other day, 

As people here oft do; 

It wasn’t ’cause I wanted fish, 

But ’cause I’s rather blue, 

And hoped the sunshine and the tide 
Would help to put my cares aside.— 

I looked out on the waters 
Where the rolling sea-hogs prey, 

And thought how like us mortals 
As we pass along the way! 

And as I moved along the dock 
And saw the poles go up and down, 

I thought how oft the budding hope 
Here blossoms to a frown. 

The stolen bait, the broken hook, 

The fish ‘‘I almost landed,” and 
“Just how it happened that I failed 
I do not understand,” 

Are ’mongst the things that make us feel 
We can’t depend on hook and reel. 

[72] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And I wandered there; and pondered 
On the much that round me lay 
Where the pelicans seemed anchored 
Plumed schooners on the hay, 

Forgetful of the ebbing tide 
And worries of a fitful life. 

And thought: Why can not we abide 
Withdrawn a moment from the strife, 
And anchored let our beings be 
At rest upon that mightier sea 
Whose waters sweep an unknown shore 
That by and by we must explore, 

Each for himself, and in life’s dark 
Discern a star to guide our bark 
Into the peaceful port of rest 
Beyond the sunset’s crimson west? 


[73] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 




By Sniffing the Air 

A HARE and a Skunk a dispute had begun 
As to which of the two could the other 
outrun. 

“I can run twice as fast,” said the gay old 
Hare, 

“And to prove it will run you a mile, if you 
dare!’ ’ 


Said the Skunk, “It’s agreed. Now you hustle 
on, 

And when you arrive I’ll have been there and 
gone!” 

When the Hare started off the Skunk only 
grinned, 

And remarked, “ I ’ll not run, but will travel by 
wind.” 

So the Hare hastened on and arrived at the 
goal, 

But no Skunk was in sight further parley to 
hold; — 


[74] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Yet ’twas easy to tell by sniffing the air 
That the sly old skunk had won from the Hare. 


Conclusion: Bad reports, like bad odors, travel 
very rapidly, and are even more deceptive. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


To John Slick 

(The writer had been assailed through a local 
newspaper in rather vigorous language by a 
a gentleman hiding behind the name “John 
Slick/’ who was, supposedly, aided in his 
vitriolic attack by a maiden lady of mature years, 
because he differed from Mr. Slick and his lady 
accomplice regarding certain civic matters affect¬ 
ing the welfare of the town; and in which article 
he was sneeringly referred to as having devoted 
more of his time to the reading of Shakespeare 
and the Bible than he had ever devoted to politi¬ 
cal economy). 

J OHN SLICK, you’re rather mad, it seems. 

I hardly think it fair 
To paw the earth and champ the bit 
And ruffle up your hair 
Because your neighbor said some things 
You did not like to hear. — 

A “jack” is not the only thing 
That has a pendant ear; 

And you his counter-part, I think, 

Did find, in pastures green, 

To help you with your epithets. — 

A noble go-between! 


[76] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


There is more in this logic: 

Treat us right, you’ll find us fair, 
Than there is in all your rantings, 
And clawings of the air 
As if to catch some ideas 
Escaping from your brain 
That make a momentary stop, 

But in illogic train; 

For they pass you in a circle 
And you catch them wrong end first, 
Which makes them look to others 
Like they ought to be reversed. 

Our town may need defending, 

But defend it like a man; 

Two wrongs will never make a right, 
As you should understand; 

And billingsgate, my dear John Slick, 
In logic has no place, 

Though handled by “stale virgins” 
With a scowling “winter’s face.” 
Uriah Heaps are not the men 
To boost our town along; 

And weakness in our champions 
Will never make us strong. 


[77] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And, John, old Shakespeare will be read, 
The Bible have its place 
When you “turn the knob to Nowhere” 
With a pale and ghost-like face; 

When your babblings are forgotten, 

And the vulture’s piercing eye 
Views the hoodlum and his consort 
In the coming by and by. — 

’Tis a cur that runs a-yelping 
When a stone strikes where he lies; 

But the faithful watch-dog lingers 
With new courage in his eyes. 


[78] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Advertising 

A MERCHANT sat on an empty box 
Whittling the time away, 

While the man who advertised his wares 
Was selling ev’ry day. 

Conclusion: Better to spend a little of your 
money advertising than to wear out your 
knife whittling. 


[79] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


To a Pansy 

S WEET bit of ev’ning shade, 

Of golden sunset sky! 

What beauty here! 

In you are locked 

The sunshine and the shower, 

The stars of night and morning dew, 

The winter winds and zephyr of the spring. 

Companion of today and comrade of the past, 
No fragrance from the years hast thou distilled; 
But, as the seasons come and go, 

With voice of verdant leaf and beauteous tint 
This truth thou dost proclaim: 

That though the winter winds may mow thee to 
the earth, 

And leave to view naught save the mould’ring 
leaf, 

Yet, in the fullness of its time, 

When breath of Spring shall blow upon the 
earth 

Will tender bud put forth, the emerald leaf, 
And witchery of flower. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And so, 

When winter of my life 
Leaves but the mould’ring clay, 

There then is hope 

That in the seasons of the soul, 

And fullness of the years, 

Breath of Eternal Spring 
Shall quicken into life the dormant clod, 
And I shall stand again, as thou today, 
The rehabilitated self I am, 

In all save sin. 


[81] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


So May It Be 

D IRECT my steps, 0 God! Take Thou my 
hand 

And lead me, lest I should not understand 
The markings of Thy way and stray aside, 

Or refuge seek behind the fig leaf pride, 
Unmindful of the flaming sword sent out 
That compassed all of Eden round about; 
Unmindful of the chast’ning of Thy rod, 

Thou merciful, yet sin-avenging God. 

Yea, Father, gently lead me. Let Thy power 
Shield from the dangers that around may 
lower; 

Give me to eat of Life the Living Bread, 

Nor seek to find the living ’mongst the dead; 
So, when approaching Death bids, “Follow 
me,” 

My soul may take its flight on pinions free 
And, gazing on the darkness left behind, 
Surcease of sorrow and a refuge find; 

A refuge where the heart shall know no pain, 
Where separated friends shall meet again, 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Where all the pleasures here enjoyed are 
As fragments of a single pleasure there; 
Where, though this body crumble to decay, 
’Twill live again for an eternal day. — 

“He’s risen!” may my panting soul exclaim, 
When Death shall snuff away Life’s flick’ring 
flame. 


[83] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Covered With Snow 

T HE MOUNTAINS out yonder are covered 
with snow, 

And the valleys are held in cold embrace; 

The winter tingles my fingers with pain, 

And the winds are biting my face. 

The fire indoors burns bright on the hearth, 
But I pity the mortals all shut in 
From the life giving air that stirs on the hills, 
Like a soul that is fettered with sin. 

I long for a clime where the fiddler digs 
Its hole in the ground, or scampers away 
Lest it should adorn the point of a hook 
As tempter of fish that swim in the bay; 

For a sunny land of health-laden air 
Where spring-time lingers, and surge on surge 
Of the Ocean chants the song of Spring 
Instead of an Autumn dirge; 

Where the stately palm adorns the beach, 

And the sunbeams romp with the rippling tide; 
Where the winds sigh gently through the pines 
As if gladsome nymphs might there abide. 

[ 84 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


There is such a land, and I Ve dwelt therein, 
Near the gates of Tampa; on the hay 
Where the Gulf Stream sweeps by Pass-a- 
Grille 

As warm as the sea at Mandalay. 

But 111 stay me here where Duty bids 
Till such a time as the seasons bring 
To the mountains out yonder covered with snow 
The song of the bird and the warmth of Spring. 


[ 85 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Little Things 

DIME was dropped in an outstretched 



hand: 


“It is not much,” the giver said; 

But a smile played o ’er a wrinkled face: 

“It is life, sir; life; for I’m needing bread!” 
’Twas a little thing, at little cost — 

A charity done that was not lost. 

A cry was heard from an ill-clad child 
As its hare feet trod the wintry street: 

“Here’s a suit for you,” a donor said, 

“It’s good and warm, and these shoes are 
neat.” 

A child was clothed and its hare feet shod — 

An act approved at the throne of God. 

There sat by a well a Traveller tired: 

“Give me to drink,” He asked of one 

To whom He gave eternal life 

For the faith bespoke by the kindness done — 

A drink of water! Aye, little things 

May win the grace of the King of Kings. 


[ 86 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


There is not a heart as deeply moved 
By all his pageantry of fame 
As is it by the little things 
That cluster round a hero’s name.— 

’Tis the little things, when life is o’er 
That will star the crowns on the other shore. 


[ 87 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A New-Year Thought 

It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps. 

—Jeremiah 10, 23. 

B EHOLD the passing of another year! 

And what have I for all its garnered days ? 
A few more scars, a few more deep regrets, 

And nearer to the parting of the ways. 

Wilt Thou who gave unto the seasons birth, 
Who planted hope within the breast of man, 
Extend Thy hand and lead us, Lord of Hosts, 
Along the paths we do not understand ? 

Let Thou the coming year be fraught with joy; 
Nor filled our hearts with longings, nor regret. 
Though sin-beguiled and scar-worn by the past, 
We ask Thy mercy and Thy guidance yet. 


[ 88 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Yet a Man 

S HOULD hopes bound high, while brightness 
fills the day, 

And suddenly comes darkness, blotting all 
away, 

If, smiling still, you do the best you can, 

You are a man! 

Conclusion: He who meets adversity with a 
smiling face and determined heart, will not be 
vanquished. 


[ 89 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


We May Not Understand 

I N OTHERS oft we but behold 

The quartz, nor seek to find the gold; 
Each serves it purpose. Night and day 
Shall each chase each, like boys at play, 
Through cycles yet untold. 

Let’s weigh their faults as if our own, 

For brightest flowers are some times grown 
In thorny wilds; and gems of worth 
Oft taken from the depths of earth 
Midst worthless pebbles strown. 

The dews that glitter on the flowers 
Are but the tears of midnight hours; 

And oft the very pangs of grief 
Bring to the heart a sad relief; 

Oft sunshine gilds the shower. 

Concealed within the breast of man 
Is much no mortal eye may scan; 

Anchors a hope serenely sweet 
Where tide of earth and heaven meet, 

We may not understand. 

[90] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Build Ye Upon the Book of Books 

(Read before a class of elementary graduates) 

I T SEEMS but yesterday 

I stood, like you, at threshold of my life 
With bounding pulse and bouyant hope, 

And looked into the years to come 
With eyes of youth. 

’Twas childhood’s dream 
That painted landscapes fair 
Beyond the hills; 

And fires of youth 

Burned incense on. the altar of my heart 
Whose fragrance clings in memory 
About today. 

But Time has shorn my locks; 

My temples painted white, 

And ploughed his furrows in my cheek. 

Yet what I am today — little or much — 

Is builded on ambitions known in youth. 

And this I’d have you know: 

Beyond your college days; 

[9i] 




MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 

Beyond the vale of youth, 

Stand stern realities. 

The Mount of Hope rears high, 

And he who plants his foot upon its crest 
Must labor up its tortuous way 
Unhindered by a secret vice or hidden wrong. 


Deal fairly with your fellow-man. 

Ask naught ye would not give. 

Wreck not another’s hopes to build thereon; 
For he who builds on other’s wrecks 
Builds not at all! 


Bear whatsoever burdens life may bring, 
And bear them with a smile. 

Impatience leads us only to despair; 

But courage, fortified by truth, 

Will banish fear, 

And triumph over doubt. 


In blazing out the pathway of your lives, 
Be careful of all far-fetched theories, 
Whose teachings are but pitfalls, 

Lead to naught, 

And nothing offer for the hopes destroyed. 


[92] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Build ye upon the Book of Books, 

Whose teaching is a lamp unto your feet; 
A light unto your path; 

A solace in the hour of grief, 

And bulwark of your hopes 
When life is done. 


[93] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Age 


H O! 

Who enters here 
With pensive brow 
And locks of snow ? 

Age! 

Calm, without fear, 

To him I bow, 

Though fool or sage! 

Hark! 

The ev’ning bells I hear, 
And thou art near, 

Oh Dark! 


[94] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Grouch 

S OME folks, it would seem, were born with a 
grouch; 

With eyebrows drawn down and lips all apouch 
They snarl at what is. Though fair as the May, 
Tomorrow, they think, will be a bad day. 

Conclusion: A smile will not buy a dinner, but 
it makes mighty good seasoning. 


[95] 




MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 

But This I’ve Learned 

ERE Destiny but Time and Place 



I should not wish to shun the Race; 


But, were there not a Haven fair, 

Life’s Ebbs and Flows I’d wish to share. 

Be Nothingness whate’er it may, 

Give me the living, pulsing Day, 

Whose surging tide of ceaseless strife 
Swells on the restless Sea of Life 
In childhood’s dawn, when youthful dreams 
Interpret Life just as it seems; 

Unmindful it is mine to be 
The captain of a bark at sea; 

Unmindful of the hopes and fears 
That rise and fall with fleeting years; 

Nor mindful of the storms that lower 
Beyond the confines of the hour. 

But this I’ve learned, with flight of years, 
Through buried hopes and blinding tears: 
That darkest night must yield to day 
When in the dawn breaks far away 


[96] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 

Its gleam of light; that roughest tide 
May dash awhile, but must subside; 

That ne’er did storm break from on high 
But in the calm that followed nigh 
There was a hush, like angel’s tread 
About the palace of the dead, 

To compensate for all our fears 
And wipe away the burning tears. 

And sailors on this sea of life, 

Seek ye a Port! And in the strife 
Throw out a rope to such as be 
Adrift upon an angry sea; 

Write Charity upon your mast, 

And Faith upon the sails you cast. 

Look out beyond your vessel’s roll, 

Where stands the Lighthouse of the Soul 
To mark the reefs; and lift your eyes 
Toward that land where peaceful lies 
The haven Rest; where, by His grace, 
You’ll meet your Pilot face to face. 


[97] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Thought at Dawn 

A S BLUSHING Morn goes forth to meet her 
groom, 

Begemmed with dews, and fragrant with per¬ 
fume, 

When Dawn inscribes upon the scroll of Night, 
‘‘Behold the Day awaits on mountain height 
Should we not so, in life’s inviting field, 

With bounding heart to noble impulse yield 
Our being, and go forth at Duty’s call 
With smiling face? For know that over all— 
The dark, the gray, the bright — there is a 
Power 

Who guides our foot-steps through each weary 
hour ; 

Who, in His scope of mercy, will descry 
His bow of promise in the darkened sky; 

Who gilds with light Despair’s o’ertopping hill, 
And bids the raging Tempest, “Peace, be still!” 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And So It Is 


H AVE you not seen some drooping form 
From whom it seemed hope had departed; 
Whose pensive brow and furrowed cheek 
Portrayed him sad and broken hearted? 


Mayhap Desire, which knows no bounds, 
Has pushed the door of Hope ajar, 

And Longing paints some vision bright 
Ambition yet discerns afar. 

You can not tell from swelling buds 
The color of the unblown roses; 

Nor can you judge the inner man 
By what the outer man discloses. 

Deception points a way to joy, 

We reach it but to find it sorrow; 

And pleasures that are ours today 
May bring to us a sad to-morrow. 

And so it is. Bright flowers may pale 
While we some phantom are pursuing; 
And what at first did brightest seem 
At last may prove the soul’s undoing. 

[99] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Let Me Learn 

L ET ME learn of the child its laughter, 
And learn of the bird its song; 

Let me learn of the lowly meekness; 
Amid the busy throng 
Let me lift from the burdened shoulder 
A part of the heavy load, 

And turn the feet of the wayward 
Aback to the better road. 

Let me bear to the heart that’s breaking 
Some message of relief, 

And pluck from the breast of sorrow 
A portion of its grief; 

Let me point the lad that’s halting 
To the summit of the hill, 

And show him to attain it 
Needs but a firm 1 ‘ I will! ’ ’ 

Let me learn that burdens ever 
Seem lighter when they’re borne 
Not for self, but for another; 

That to weep with those who mourn, 

[IOO] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And scatter in their pathway 
The sunshine of relief, 

Helps lift the gloom from sorrow 
And pluck the sting from grief. 


[IOI] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


There’s a Little Face 

HERE’S a little face, when the morning 



dawns, 


That smiling lifts its eyes to me 

From the land of dreams, like sunrise beams 

On a coral stranded sea. 

And I think of the home — if a home it is — 
Where the child-dawn dares not break ; 

Where the race that’s run is an empty one, 
And folly is the stake: 

And I think of the child that’s set adrift 
Alone in the busy strife, 

Where we hear not its cry while passing by 
In the rushing marts of life: 

And I think of the home where an angel rode 
On the sombre wings of night, 

And pierced the heart with his deathly dart 
Of a Rachel, in his flight. 

Then I kiss my child and hasten out, 

And joining in the fray 
I pass along with the busy throng 
To the close of another day ; 


[ 102 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And homeward bend my steps again, 

Where the face that smiled at dawn 
Greets with its smile to cheer me while 
The evening hastens on. 

But the twilight falls, and a lullaby 
Has hushed her cares away; 

And a something creeps from out the deep 
With its longings for the day 
When morn shall spread its dews again 
And lift the gloom of night, 

And I pray the while that another smile 
Will bless the coming light; 

That the morrow’s dawn no vintage hold 
Of the cares of yesterday, 

And that all along some soft, sweet song 
Will gladden in the way; 

That a gentle Hand will lead her o’er 
Each stony, rough and rugged place; 

That her sunset’s gleam in the twilight stream 
Will reflect a smiling face. 


[ 103 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Lines on the Fiftieth Anniversary of 
My Birth 

F IFTY YEARS, with their cuffs and scars! 

Fifty Years, with their discords and jars! 
But 111 measure them not by their darker hours, 
Nor the thorns that kept me from plucking the 
flowers, 

Nor the hopes that in earlier life I have known, 
Nor the tares that I gather from fields I have 
sown. 

There are still those I love, to gladden the way; 
There are memories sweet, to hallow the day:— 
I remember the songs of the birds that have 
flown; 

The fragrance of flowers that have faded and 
gone, 

And that beckoning sunset, with mystic key, 
Will open those birds and those flowers to me. 


[104] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


A Song of Thanksgiving 

D ISPENSER of the Harvests grown, 

In humbleness of heart, 

We thank Thee for the portion that is ours. 
Yea, Lord, and for the wealth of blessings 
Known where Peace abides, 

And lingers not the strident note of War; 

For failures, — oft the gateways to success; — 
For trials overcome, 

And scars left by the conflicts won; 

For pleasures of the present hour, 

And health and strength commensurate with 
age; 

The Man of Galilee, 

Who trod the wine-press of Thy wrath alone; 
And Faith, 

That lights the gloom beyond the vale. 

We thank Thee for the memories of Spring: — 

The shower and the sunny warmth 

That quickened into life the planted seed; 

The silv’ry brook 

That leaped from mountain side 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And laughed ’twixt verdant banks 
Through waking vales; 

The cackle of the barn-yard hen; 

The caw of crows, 

And twitter of the nesting bird; 

The hum of bees; 

The gambol of the calf, the colt, the lamb; 
The ruddy cheek of romping maid, 

And whistle of the bare-foot boy — 

For all, yea, all 

We thank Thee, blessed Lord! 

And for the rain and Summer’s sun 
Locked in the golden sheaf; 

The luscious fruit of vine and twig; 

The lazy herd that fattened on the sward; 
The play of lightning on the darkened sky; 
Companionship of friends 
That strolled with us along the hills; 

And hope, 

That springs in Sorrow’s fallowed field — 
For these, yea, these, 

We thank Thee, and adore! 


And for the haze 

That Indian Summer spreads upon the hills; 
[i°6] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


The green, the purple, and the gold 
Of Autumn leaf; 

The ev’ning’s ruby sun, 

And harvest-moon; 

The glit’ring stars 

That whisper from the depths of space 
Into the list’ning ear of Night; 

The blush of Morn; 

And frost, 

That quickens step of Age to pace of Youth; 
The fallen leaf, 

Whose mold, with breath of Spring, 

Shall tint and verdure give 
To blossom and to field, — 

A proof that Life of Death is born, — 

For these, Thy gifts, 

We thank Thee, Lord of Hosts! 


[ 107 ] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Mondongachate 

M ONDONGACHATE !* River of the Hills! 

New River; yet, 

Traced by the hand of Science 
In its backward reach, 

Geology proclaims Earth’s oldest Stream , 

Save one 

Where, anchored with Archean rocks, 

The Thousand Islands moored lie, 

And go the ships out from Ontario 
To Gulf Saint Lawrence ports. 

But, Empress of my native dale, 

Your course I dare not trace 
Through aeons gone; 

Nor paint you in your moods, 

Though oft your waves I’ve cleft 
With shallop’s oar, 


* Mon-don-ga-cha-te. Aboriginal name of the New River, 
a beautiful mountain stream that has its source in North 
Carolina, flows through Virginia and West Virginia to Kanawha 
Falls, W. Va., below which point it is known as the Kanawha 
River, and from which point it is navigable. It empties into 
the Ohio River at historic Point Pleasant, W. Va, 


[i°8] 




And leap with joyous shouts 











MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Or pensive sat where raging tide, 
Lashed into fury by torrential rain, 
Hurled hack your angry hiss. 


The Wherefore of Existence has its charm 
But this I leave to them 
Who Mystery delve. 

Enough to know creative Wisdom is 
Of all her children justified. 

I’ll sing of you 

As an Adventurous Stream, 

Whose swaddling clothes 

Are North Carolina’s moss and ferns. 

What courage yours! 

In upland hogs 

You gather into silv’ry brook 

That ripples through the fen and mead, 

And steals away among the hills. 

Lost in their wilds, 

You leap from stone to stone 
With merry song. 


[109] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


’Twixt rising slopes 

You sweep through Carroll’s verdant fields. 
Where unleashed feuds have swept; 

Nor tarry in Pulaski’s peaceful vales. 

With daring of Virginia Cavalier, — 

A Jackson, Stuart, Washington, or Lee,— 
You smile at Alleghany’s frowns, 

And, as with mighty dredge, 

You Peter’s Mountains eastward toss 
In rugged piles; 

And peak on peak 

East River Mountains westward hurl. 

You stop not in your march 
To revel in the vict ’ry won; 

But, gathering recruits from glen and dell, 
You northward press, — 

A conqueror unafraid! 

You bid the Mother State farewell 
With laugh and song; 

And West Virginia greet 
With soft refrain. 

You glide o’er gentle shoals 
With murmur of the buzzing bee, 

[“°] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Or winds lost in the autumn boughs; 
You loiter in your eddies 
Silent as the hush of night; 

With merry laugh steal on the precipice 
And leap with joyous shout 
To depths below. 

From loamy banks 
Where lifts the shaggy birch 
Its feathery boughs, — 

Fit temple for the Cardinal, 

Whose song is wild as is your flow, — 
And sycamore stands white sentinel 
0 ’er verdant vales, 

You seek the gorge 

’Twixt Fayette’s frowning crags 

And stone-capped heights, 

Unheedful of their cavern depths 
Where Man incessant toils 
To eke from them his daily bread. 

Unheedful of the treasures thence 
That loose the spindles of the loom, 

The locomotive’s wheel, the forge, 

And ships that ply the distant seas; 

The oven’s ruddy glow 
That lights your banks by night; 

[in] 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Or narrow pass through which is borne 
The fruitage of your hills. 

Unheedful of the thousand eager eyes 
That daily gaze on dizzy peaks 
And vistas of your glens; 

The overhanging ledge 

Adorned with hemlock, oak and spreading vine; 
The rhododendron’s white and purple bloom 
That clings to precipice and cloistered dell, — 
Alike its friend; — 

Or Eagle, poised mid-air and pinion-tired, 
Above your cragged wilds. 

Nor heedful of the golden stream of wealth 
Lost in your uncurbed flow, 

Whose wasted energy, 

Directed to the use of Man, 

Would rear the factory, the home, 

And set a-hum such hive of industry 
As Dreamer yet has dreamed not of! 

But even mountain freedom has its bounds; 
And shoutings in the valleys oft are lost 
In echoes ere they mount to crests. 


And such your destiny! 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Emerging from your rock-ribbed gorge 
You leap with single bound Kanawha Falls, 
And lie to slavery abased! 

Lost, lost your mountain pride! 

And lost your Name! 

Henceforth a burden-bearer, commerce laden, 
Outward to the Sea! 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


Tolerance 

W HAT though our views may differ, 

Does it mean we are no longer friends, 
And, Calvin like, Servetus must be slain? 


If I see beauty in the lightning’s flash; 
Hear music in the thunder’s sullen roar, 
Or vespers in the lowing of the kine, 

Does it detract 

From majesty of sunset sky, 

The linnet’s song, 

Or chime of ev’ning bells? 


The mountains differ in their reverence of God: 
Some lift their heads in vesture of celestial 
white; 

Some clad in verdure of the pine, or sturdy oak, 
And others stand in stone-capped ruggedness. 
He, in His wisdom, reared His mountain 
thrones, 

And condemnation passes on them none. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


And though I serve Him not as you Him serve, 
Nor revel in some creed of ancient mold, — 
Stand not among my fellows cedar-girt a 
Lebanon, — 

Yet if the feeble light I hold but leads to Hope, 
And Faith, in the gray dawn beyond the vale, 
Discerns the gateway to Eternal Life, 

What differs the divergent way ? 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


My Love is Wayward Love 

M Y LOVE is wayward love that none may 
know. 

I love my terraced home among the hills 
Where winding turquoise rivers wildly flow. 

I love the shim’ring lake where white sails 
blow; 

And trackless main where ocean seahounds go. 

I love the peaks where wailing storms have 
birth, 

And mounts the lightning on its fiery wings. 

I love the plains where sky bends down to 
earth; 

The song of sorrow, wit, or passing mirth; 

All things of value; those of little worth. 

I love the frowning crags that lift on high, 

And quiet valleys slumb ’ring at their base. 

I love the morning dawn, and sunset sky; 

The sultry noon, and shade when night draws 
nigh; 

The bright, the drab, and all that round may 
lie. 


MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS 


I love the barren slopes; earth’s tnfted sod 
Where flow the brooks and feed the fatted 
herds. 

I love,—not for their sake,—sin’s paths I’ve 
trod 

That led but to despair. Frail mortal clod, 

’Tis thus alone you know the love of God. 

I love the mellow Spring, the flowers of May, 
And songs of birds resounding in the glen. 

I love the Summer’s breath of new-mown hay; 
The crimson, green, and gold of Autumn day; 
And sombre Winter with its clouds of gray. 

I love Youth’s flaxen hair; the gray of Age 
With knowledge that the passing years impart. 
I love the conflicts that in life we wage; 

And Death,—ah, if I love his pallid page, 

It is that I lie down with prince and sage 
To rise again. 
























































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